


The Story of Hrayatha and the Rabbit Who Left No Tracks

by Luzula



Category: Watership Down - Richard Adams
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pipkin listens to a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of Hrayatha and the Rabbit Who Left No Tracks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merlin Missy (mtgat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtgat/gifts).



> Thank you to [](http://akamine-chan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**akamine_chan**](http://akamine-chan.dreamwidth.org/) for looking this over and offering many suggestions, not all of which I managed to do something with before the deadline. I was so lucky that one of my regular betas also loves this book!

It was a late summer's evening on Watership Down. Frith lay on the western horizon, sending light as rich as honey among the beeches and turning the leaf litter beneath the trees into a golden brown. All nature was thriving and full of life, and yet one could see that the season had begun to mature into autumn. The new, trembling green of the spring had long since turned into the tough green of high summer; the beechnuts were ripening, and the puffy seed-heads of the dandelions and hawkweeds were releasing their white parasols into the blue sky.

But the first frost was still a long way off, and the rabbits of Watership Down had no thought of it yet. They lived in the moment, and life was good. Most of the rabbits were out on their evening silflay, munching contentedly, but keeping a watchful eye out for possible danger.

Pipkin was old now, but he had lived a long and interesting life (in fact, often far more interesting than he could have wished). He was not someone who relished adventure, but with the help of his friends, he had survived it all, and he had no regrets. In fact, rabbits seldom do.

There was a stamping out on the field. Pipkin startled with that flash of fear that always struck him at the thought of the hawk's swoop or the homba's teeth, moving to the opening of a nearby run. His old bones could not run fast any longer and he knew it. He rarely went far from the warren these days.

A few other rabbits came running, too, but then Threar said, "Nothing's wrong."

Pipkin relaxed. He trusted Threar as he would have trusted Fiver. "Then why the stamping?"

"There's news of someone who has left us." Threar would not say any more, or could not.

That night at owl-time they all assembled in the Honeycomb. The big burrow had been expanded away from the hole in the roof, further in among the beech roots, and the collapsed parts had been left to fill in. Indeed, most of the young rabbits in the warren had forgotten the battle that had once taken place there, except in an almost mythical sense—the stories were still told, of course, and had lost nothing in the telling. But they did not really imagine that Bigwig's heroic fight had taken place in the familiar runs and burrows of their own warren, and Bigwig himself had almost passed into the realm of myth.

Pipkin was half-dozing between two warm bodies when Mayth-rah said, "I think Hrayatha has a story to tell."

"I'm not a storyteller," protested Hrayatha. She was a strapping young doe who had more strength than sense, in Pipkin's opinion. Then again, perhaps that was only her youth. Her flank had a scratch, though it was carefully cleaned and had stopped bleeding.

"Nevertheless, the story must be told," Mayth-rah said. "We all want to hear about Hazel-rah."

 _Hazel-rah?_ The word penetrated Pipkin's sleepy mind. He made his way over to Hrayatha and said, "What do you know about Hazel-rah? Tell me. Please."

There was a respectful silence. All of them knew that Pipkin had been one of Hazel-rah's companions in the flight from the Sandleford warren, the only one of that group who was still alive, and there was something in his voice which compelled an answer.

"All right," said Hrayatha. "I'll tell you."

The rabbits settled down to listen. She had told the truth when she said she was no storyteller, but while rabbits appreciate the flair of a story told well, they also have great patience with a beginner. The Honeycomb was full of the small sounds of rabbits shifting, breathing, chewing pellets, and into that comforting atmosphere of rabbitry, Hrayatha spoke.

"I wanted to go on patrol with the Owsla. They were going out past the farm, because somebody had heard there were hlessil out there. And Hawthorn said I couldn't, because I was too young. But I'm not too young! I can fight and run, and I'm strong. And then Bramble said that does weren't supposed to be in the Owsla, and I cuffed him over the head just to prove that I can fight just as well as he can."

No one told her that she had gotten off track, and eventually she went on. "Anyway. Hawthorn said I couldn't come on the patrol, but I sneaked away after them. They left before the sun rose, and I followed them. But then I thought, maybe I'll stop and get some flayrah from the farm."

Her nose quivered. "There's a vegetable garden by the house, and they have the most delicious lettuces. So crisp and tasty, and then there are carrots and parsnips and even a bed of strawberries."

Pipkin's mouth watered, and the rabbit beside him sighed at the thought of the fresh vegetables.

"There was a dog by the house, but it was tied up," Hrayatha continued. "Besides, it was still sleeping, and the wind was from the house, so I thought I'd smell it if anything came up from that way. I ate all I could eat, and perhaps I was a bit distracted, because before I knew it, there was a cat just a few rows from me. It had come the other way, so I hadn't smelled it. I couldn't seem to look away. I know you say that about cats, but it's true. It looked at me and I looked at it, and we stayed that way until I finally managed to edge away a bit, but the cat followed me."

Hrayatha had grown less awkward now that she was engaged in the story, and Pipkin felt the slow stalking approach of the cat as if it had been he who was the prey.

"I kept thinking I should bolt, because surely I would be quicker than the cat, but I just couldn't. And then it leaped. I saw it coming, though, and I got up on my hind legs to meet it. It was heavier than me and bowled me over, but I scratched its belly. If it was going to get me, then I would give it something to remember." Her hind legs scratched the floor in remembrance.

"But then the cat was gone. I looked around, and it was running after another rabbit. At first I thought it was the patrol, that they'd seen me and had come back to help me, but then I saw that the other rabbit was running faster than any rabbit could run, and disappearing and then turning up in another place. It was certainly leading the cat a merry chase. I couldn't help looking at them, but then the other rabbit stopped to stamp, and I ran away."

"I ran all the way up to that shed by the lane, and hid behind a pile of wood. My heart was pounding like all the Thousand were on my tail, and I stayed there until it had calmed down. When I was just about to slip out, something moved nearby, and I froze. I thought it was the cat."

"But it was Hazel-rah. I thought it had been him in the garden, but now I could see him, and it _was_ him. He was old when I was born, you know, but he wasn't old now. He looked strong, and not old at all."

"Hazel-rah said, 'You won't let your guard down in a farmyard again, I hope.'"

"'No, I won't,' I said. 'I'm sorry, Hazel-rah.'"

"Then he said, 'The patrol is long gone now, so you'd better go back to the warren. And if you want to get into the Owsla, you have to be smart as well as willing to risk your life.'"

She hung her head a little bit when she spoke of Hazel-rah's chastisement, but soon regained her confidence. After all, she was the one who had seen Hazel-rah when no one else had, and she was telling a story that everybody wanted to hear.

"Hazel-rah said, 'You'll be all right,' and set off along the lane. I looked out to see that it was safe, and then followed. Hazel-rah was gone. The grass was still wet with dew, and my paws left prints in it. But Hazel-rah had left no prints."

The story was over, and the rabbits in the great burrow turned to each other to digest what they had heard. They made sense of the world in large part through each other, and the knowledge of Hazel-rah's appearance filtered through the warren with the conversation and closeness of the rabbits, until it settled, like a stone that had fallen through green waters to the bottom.

Later in the night, Pipkin half-dozed by a wall in the Honeycomb, dreaming a dream where Hazel chased the cat around and around the barnyard. His paws were twitching.

Hrayatha came up to him hesitantly. "Hello? Are you asleep?"

"Huh?" Pipkin shook the sleep away. "No, I'm awake."

"Hazel-rah gave me a message for you," she said in a low voice.

Pipkin was suddenly wide awake. "For me? What did he say?"

"He said to tell you that he would see you soon."

She left, and Pipkin was alone, though not lonely. He lived half in the past now, and Hazel was more real to him than this year's half-grown kittens. He could not remember most of their names.

While Hazel was alive, Pipkin would have followed him anywhere, and it had been so ever since Hazel-rah had led them out of the Sandleford warren on that dim, moonlit night. Pipkin had been the first in the group to recognize Hazel's leadership, and he had not been wrong: Hazel had led them from danger and into danger, and brought them safely through it all to these high, lonely downs that became their home.

He would still follow Hazel anywhere. Pipkin slept, and dreamed, and waited.

**Author's Note:**

> The non-canonical rabbit names are constructed using this [extension](http://www.loganberry.furtopia.org/bnb/lapine/overview.html) of the rabbit language.


End file.
